Unforgivible
by LBibliophile
Summary: Harry liked Sirius – and the family he represented - but never really knew him. So what if it wasn't Sirius who died? What if, that night at the Ministry, Bellatrix struck closer to home? Warning: Major character death.


This fic was inspired by the premise of _Trio's Glue_ by SlytherinNinjaKnight.

For the sake of plot, I'm assuming that Dumbledore has had the discussion about the prophecy with Harry earlier in the year; as would have been the sensible thing to do.

Disclaimer: As the site suggests, this is a work of fanfiction and I own nothing.

* * *

" _Colloportus personali._ " Harry gasps out the locking spell, slamming the door as soon as Ginny stumbles through it. Even with the modification it won't hold the Death Eaters behind them for long, but hopefully it will be enough for the six of them to find the atrium so they can get out of here.

Mentally he is kicking himself. He knew it was a trap, but he walked straight into it anyway. He knew that Voldemort was after the prophecy, and he had been warned that he might use their connection to lure him in. But when he saw Sirius… he couldn't take the risk that it might be real without doing anything, couldn't bear the thought of losing someone else especially when this time he might be able to stop it. He mentally runs through all the words he can think of for stupid and applies them to himself. Yes, he checked with Kreacher, but he didn't think that maybe the antagonistic house-elf would lie; he didn't think to use the mirror his godfather gave him, didn't think to check with Snape privately, didn't _think_. No, he ran off like a reckless Gryffindor and now instead of one friend in danger, he has five.

Pushing his anger aside for now he focuses on the current situation, scanning the large and echoingly empty room they have entered. The circular walls are ringed by shallow stone steps, sinking to a platform in the centre where there stands a single crumbling stone archway. Hung from the arch a tattered curtain of black fabric ripples slightly in a non-existent breeze, and he can just make out a faint whispering, words he can almost understand. He takes a step towards it, trying to hear, then stops, shaking his head. He doesn't have time for this, they have to get out of the Ministry before any more of the Death Eaters find them again.

Spying a door on the other side of the room they hurry towards it. He doesn't know where it leads but it is as good a direction as any, and better than behind where they _know_ the Death Eaters are waiting. As though aware of his thoughts the door creaks open, causing the friends to come to a stumbling halt in the centre of the room. The darkness in the doorway coalesces and a figure steps forward, the now-familiar black garb bleeding into the shadows, unrelieved by the usual white mask. Another figure appears behind the first, then another, black robed forms emerging from the darkness until half a dozen stand in a line before them.

Harry recognises most of the faces beneath the hoods – from the graveyard and the Azkaban wanted posters – but one stands out. Deep-set dark eyes glitter with madness beneath wild black curls. Bellatrix Lestrange. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Neville pale with fear and rage, but her eyes are focused only on him.

"'ittle bitty Potter, come to save his godfather. What a pity my charming cousin didn't get the invitation. Don't worry, you can play with us instead."

As though her words are a cue, coloured lights fill the room as the Death Eaters loose spells on the small cluster of teenagers. They scatter, dodging frantically, knowing there is nowhere to hide. A few moments later the balance shifts; the students regain their concentration, returning fire with spells of their own. Despite the DA training they are no match for the adults – schoolyard jinxes against dark curses – but somehow, miraculously, they hold.

Harry focuses on Bellatrix before him, vaguely aware that the rhythm of the fighting around him has changed as combatants form into duelling pairs.

An unfamiliar purple spell shoots towards him and he dodges, sending a Stunner in return. _Bombarda_ is deflected by _expelliarmus_. _Deglubo cutis_ meets _pertrificus totalus_. He blocks a bone-breaking hex and returns with _impedimenta_. This isn't working. He ducks a _crucio_. He can't win – can't survive – fighting like this. He fires two more _stupifys_ in quick succession but she dodges one and blocks the other. He has to fight like them. The next spell she sends his way is met with _reducto_. Another unfamiliar curse misses as he looses a jet of fire. _Viscera expulso_ collides with _diffindo_ He dodges the next spell then has to stumble backwards to avoid a blue light, a stray spell from one of the other duels. He sees Bellatrix's wand moving and tries to raise a shield but is too slow, gasping as the cutting curse slices through muscle on his wand arm. It hurts like hell, but at least he can still use his wand; for now.

Suddenly a door bangs open, distracting him. He glances over, dreading the sight of more Death Eater cloaks; they are barely holding their own as it is. Instead he almost collapses with relief at the sight of the familiar faces. The Order is here. Everything will be fine now.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Harry ducks at the sound of the curse, but the wand isn't pointed at him; not anymore. He hears the soft thud of a body hitting the ground, almost lost amid the explosions and shouts of spells filling the chamber, and turns to look behind him. Black Hogwarts robes. Empty blue eyes. Shock of bright red hair.

 _Ron._

The sight of his best friend crumpled beside the arch drives through him, turning his world upside-down. A part of him wants to believe that it isn't true, that he is just injured, but he knows on an instinctive level that the flash of green light brings death to those he loves. He has known it since that fateful night fourteen years ago.

A sound, and he snaps his head forward again, dragged back to his present danger. Bellatrix watches, a hand covering her mouth as she giggles, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly.

"Oops, my bad. Did I just kill your little blood traitor friend? Adult duels are a dangerous business you know."

"You…" Blinding rage fills him, and he takes a step towards her, hand clenched tight around his wand.

Dropping the act, she laughs again; her mad, taunting cackle. "You want revenge, Potter? Come and take it." Giving him a final gloating smile she spins, running through a half-hidden doorway behind her.

Barely noticing the increasingly intense battle raging around him, Harry follows. His mind fills with memories of Ron, his first true friend, flashing through his mind in time with his pounding footsteps.

 _…Ron, sitting on the Hogwarts Express with him for the first time…_

 _…Ron, standing over an unconscious troll, look of terror and amazement on his face…_

 _…Ron, grinning at him through the bars on his window, just before ripping them out…_

 _…Ron, celebrating with him after a Quidditch match…_

 _…Ron, apologising after the First Task…_

 _…Ron, playing wizard chess in the common room…_

 _…Ron, laughing in triumph after casting his first corporeal patronus…_

 _…Ron, lying limp and blank-eyed on the stone floor, dead…_

 _…Ron, lying limp and blank-eyed on the stone floor, dead…_

 _…Ron, limp, dead…_

 _…Ron, dead…_

…Ron…

Harry shudders as the final scene keeps repeating in his mind, like a broken record. He wants it to stop, to move on to something happier, but it can't. That's it. There are no more memories. There can _be_ no more memories.

He bursts into the Atrium and sees Bellatrix has stopped, waiting for him. She smiles, raising her wand, but she never gets the chance to finish her spell. _It's her fault_. At that moment, all Harry wants is to make her hurt as much as she hurt him. All the grief and rage and pain pours out of him, mixing with his magic to form a single spell.

" _Crucio!_ "

UUUUU

Bella laughs again as she hears the Potter boy running after her. The Dark Lord has claimed the boy's death for himself, but really, where is the fun in just killing him anyway? She prefers to take his orders as permission to get creative. Reaching the empty Atrium, she activates the Dark Mark on her arm, telling her Master that the trap is in place. She turns to face the door as the pounding footsteps come closer. _He_ is coming, but there is plenty of time to play first.

Smiling in anticipation, she raises her wand. But before she gets a chance to cast, a strangled shout echoes through the hall.

" _Crucio!_ "

Her only awareness is pain. Icy fire courses through her veins, the searing heat and freezing cold not cancelling out but making each other stronger. Losing control, she screams; every breath, every heartbeat, sending fresh agony shooting through her body.

She is no stranger to the Cruciatus Curse – it is the Dark Lord's tool of choice for lessons and punishments – but never before has she felt it like this.

UUUUU

After long minutes, Harry lowers his wand, his injured arm unable to keep steady any longer. He feels empty now, detached. Even the sight of the dark-haired woman crumpled on the ground only leaves him with a faint feeling of disgust. Slowly she looks up at him, her body twitching and trembling from the aftereffects of the curse.

"You… What… You shouldn't be able to do that." Her voice is hoarse from screaming, tinged with awe and fear. "Not even _He_ …"

A strange sense of clarity comes over him and suddenly he can see the connections unfolding before him. It is as though Dumbledore is whispering answers in his ear, yet the thoughts and words are entirely his own.

"Do you know what the prophecy says, Lestrange? … _he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not_ … Dumbledore always said that it was love; one thing your master never understood. I laughed. I mean, using love to defeat one of the darkest wizards of all time? But now I realise he's right.

"In class, Mad-Eye told us that you have to mean it to cast an Unforgivable. To know what it does and truly want to kill or torture or control someone. Voldemort doesn't care enough, none of you do. You just cast them for amusement, for convenience. Not me. Voldemort killed my parents, and look what happened to him. You just killed my best friend. There is a reason they are called Unforgivables; do you really want to know how far I will go to stop that from happening again?"

UUUUU

She looks up into the boy's cold eyes. Her mind is clearer than it has been since even before Azkaban and it is all telling her one thing; this is not a wizard to cross. He is not a Dark Lord, he is something worse. He is a Lord of the Light, the purifying flame. He does not seek to rule, but to protect, and in his defence of those he cares about he is ruthless and unyielding. And she has just shown herself to be a threat.

Making a decision, she activates the emergency portkey on the ring on her left hand, the world spinning and dissolving around her. She will be in trouble for leaving, but at this point she doesn't care. She would rather face the Dark Lord's punishment than the wrath of the boy with eyes like green ice.


End file.
